There will never be another night like tonight.
Tonight I face all of my fears, all of my sorrows. Tomorrow, Hospice will come to manage the process, but tonight I am on my own. Tonight, my dad, my mother’s husband of 40 years, my personal hero is dying.
He is 3 miles away, patiently waiting for all of his children to come visit tomorrow. He is not ready to go, but he probably understands the reality. He is occasionally lucid and ornery, not wanting the gizmos and contraptions they have him hooked up to, but without them, he is gone.
I never wanted to be like him, a salesman. I did not understand what that meant.
That he is a friend to everyone.
That he can make small talk into big talk.
My dad…a man who can tell a joke that should not be told, but makes you laugh anyway.
He is not ready to go. He has more to say.
But his body is telling him he might have to.
And I am grateful for the chance to tell him hello…and goodbye. And I am grateful that I know he loves me and is proud of me and confident that he knows I love him and that he is a good dad.
He is a great dad.
And 76 years was just not enough… I want more.
So I get tomorrow…I hope.
Maybe the next day.
And for now, I have a dad.
I love you, Dad. John.
Sweet dreams. I will see you tomorrow.